


Of Tongues, Balms and Lips

by courtinggtrouble



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Geralt is smitten, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, Pining, Sexual Tension, Supportive Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, it gets resolved, they're all little shits in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtinggtrouble/pseuds/courtinggtrouble
Summary: Jaskier often had dry lips, he got it from his mother.---In which Jaskier is always licking his lips or rubbing oil on them and Geralt finds his gaze drawn to it
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 471





	Of Tongues, Balms and Lips

Jaskier often had dry lips, he got it from his mother. When he was little she would rub beeswax on his lips, especially in winter, and would tell him not to lick it off , but it smelled sweet so of course he would. It certainly did _not_ taste like how it smelled.

Once he’d moved out, he tried using other things, sometimes replacing beeswax with different oils if it was too expensive. Other times, when money was short, he would forgo it entirely and let his lips stay chapped, food and drink was more important anyway. He’d developed a habit of licking his lips to soothe the dryness instead. It worked as a short term salve but didn’t do much else. 

Once he met the Witcher, money became less scarce and he could afford the oils and balms that he needed. However, long journeys sometimes meant that he’d run out and he would have to resort to running his tongue over his lips again. 

Geralt would like to say that he had gotten used to it but it still drove him up the fucking wall because _goddammit_ when he sees that pink tongue lave over the bard’s lips, leaving them _glistening_ , he needs to leave the room. The thing is, Jaskier’s lips are almost _always_ shining either because of his tongue or the oils that he thumbs over his lips.

And as much as the bard liked to believe himself to be a keen observer, he had failed to notice Geralt’s frustration. The same couldn’t be said for others though. 

A merchant with a pesky monster problem comes to the inn where a Witcher is supposedly staying and he explains what he needs done. In the booth, Geralt sits across from him and Jaskier beside him. The bard scribbles down notes on parchment, details about the monster, a story that he could possibly embellish, things that would sound good in a ballad. All the while, he thumbs open a container with the other hand, spreads the wax onto his thumb and runs it over his dry lips, tugging the skin with him as he goes. 

The man isn’t really focusing on the bright-eyed bard but trails off when he notices that the Witcher is, yellow eyes staring intensely at the bard. No, not at _the bard_ , but at _his lips._ The merchant tries hiding a smile and clears his throat pointedly, his apprehension towards the intimidating Witcher dissipating slightly. Those yellow eyes snap back to his and he growls at the knowing smile the man is shooting at him.

Jaskier looks up, noticing the sudden silence. “What’s happening? Did I miss something?”

“No.” The Witcher rumbles and the merchant looks away.

Sometimes it’s just a bystander, a person on the street, an audience member at one of the bard’s performances, that catches it. Jaskier’s finished his show and after a deep bow, goes to sit with his scary companion, gulping down water to quench his throat and talking a mile a minute to the seemingly unresponsive Witcher. 

But he does, he does respond, in little ways. He tilts his head or grunts or raises a brow. And the bard’s talking, talking a mile a minute and his tongue quickly goes to swipe over his dry lips, wetting them, making them gleam and the Witcher’s attention is dragged down. The bard doesn’t notice and goes on, oblivious to the fact that the Witcher’s own lips have parted as he gazes wistfully.

“ _Stop staring,_ we don’t want any trouble from a _Witcher.”_ A friend hisses in warning to the person watching. They smile softly, looking away, it doesn’t seem like the Witcher was looking for much trouble anyway.

And who could forget his worst pesterer, Yennefer of Vengerberg? The amount of times she’s caught the Witcher following the bard’s finger as it smears some glossy oils onto his lips or suddenly trailing off in favour of watching Jaskier’s tongue peek out and wet his lips. He’s given her many warning growls and a few sneers but her teasing does not relent.

_“A bit distracted are we today, Witcher?”  
_

_“I’m sorry, apparently Jaskier’s tongue has something more important to say, I’ll let it finish.”  
_

_“For gods’ sake, Geralt, just fuck him already.”_

Eventually, Geralt _does_ snap and finally tastes those shining lips. Thankfully it isn’t beeswax that time. It’s something sweet and fruity, something that tastes vaguely of raspberry, something that tints the bard’s lips an inviting shade of pink. Geralt tastes other parts of Jaskier that night too.

But, in typical Yennefer fashion, the teasing does not stop after that. Not only that, but once Princess Cirilla joins their ragtag group, the teasing _increases._

They’re sitting in a tavern, lazily sipping their drinks after finishing a good meal and Jaskier’s plucking away at his lute, midway through creating another song. He’s plucking at his lute and tonguing his lips insistently, trying to soothe the dryness after having run out of his regular raspberry balm (which had become his regular simply because he found out how much Geralt loved it). And so, Jaskier sits, plucking at his lute, tonguing his lips and then stops, pauses, tries a different tune and _bites_ his lower lip, practically _chewing_ on it. And the thing is, it’s gone a rosy, reddish colour at the bard’s insistent fiddling and licking and _chewing_ and Geralt’s just gone, absolutely gone.

And Yennefer, observant as always, notices it and nudges Ciri under the table, gesturing to the big, bad, _besotted_ Witcher beside her and the girl giggles. The sorceress smiles and then turns and huffs dramatically.

“Honestly, Geralt, there is a _child_ at the table, please reserve your _lecherous_ looks for the bedroom.” She says, tutting and shaking her head. The Witcher snaps out of it and scowls just as the bard looks up in confusion, lips and lutes forgotten.

“Lecherous?” He asks, still confused.

“Really, Geralt, you should try to be a better influence. What if I went around staring at people all dotty, hm?” Ciri asks, shaking her head. 

Yennefer smiles, proud. 

Geralt frowns, offended.

“I am _not_ _dotty.”_ He grumbles. It seems the bard has finally caught up as he looks at the Witcher with a wide grin.

“Dotty, huh?” He asks.

“ _Not_ dotty.” Geralt corrects.

“Absolutely dotty.” Ciri confirms.

“Quite dotty,” Yennefer adds, “it’s your godsdamned lip licking, bard.”

“Is it now?” Jaskier asks. Geralt’s frown deepens but it slips away as Jaskier’s eyes widen innocently. “You mean like when I do this?” and then the bard proceeds to _lave_ his wet tongue over his pink lips slowly and pointedly. The Witcher rumbles and stands, grabbing Jaskier’s hand and dragging him upstairs and ignoring the laughter from the women at the table.

He knows the bard enjoys being manhandled so Geralt pushes him to the bed once they reach their bedroom and Jaskier goes sprawling. Geralt drinks him in, pretty blue eyes watching him excitedly, loose shirt revealing a collarbone and dusky chest hair and Geralt’s eyes wander up. Jaskier’s lips are glossy and still rosy, rosy enough to match the deepening blush on his cheeks. And the Witcher honestly doesn’t know if he’s doing it on purpose now or if it’s just force of habit because _he does it again_ , that tongue slips out to wet the already glistening skin of Jaskier’s lips and Geralt feels the heat in his belly building. 

It must be force of habit at this point because the bard seems all too preoccupied savouring the sight of Geralt standing above him, golden eyes practically _molten_ as he watches the fucking tongue lick at those parted lips. Geralt wastes no more time and cages the bard in, hovering above him as he finally gets to lick and bite at those lips himself…and other places as well.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on the tumbs @imweakmylove  
> please comment what you thought


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